A/N: Thanks for the review! :D
Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion. Nope.
A place between sleep and awake.
End of innocence, unending masquerade,
That's where I'll wait for you.
- Sleepwalker, Nightwish
#09: Aftermath
Lucius was running through an endless hallway.
He could hear the guards yelling behind him, but he was smiling. The heist had succeeded; the guards were of no consequence. In his hands he held the artifact of Nocturnal herself – the Skeleton Key. As familiar faces leapt into the fray behind him, aiding his escape, he dashed through the door and into the light. Armand was grinning from ear to ear.
"Good job, Lucius. The Skeleton Key… I never thought…"
And Lucius watched, in growing horror, as the Doyen melted before him. The wispy form of the ghost-wraith burst from his head. Its thin, bony hands reached out, closing around his neck, and squeezed –
Lucius woke.
He was staring at… nothing. No, that was not right. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he gradually became aware that he was staring at a high stone ceiling. He drew a deep breath, feeling constricted by the tight bandages wrapped around his torso and abdomen. His armor was gone; instead, he was wearing a rough spun tunic and trousers. The fabric was rougher than the shrouded armor was, but it was loose.
All was quiet. Lucius stared at the ceiling for a while longer, watching the shadows play about the walls. He slowly raised a hand, touching his neck; there were no marks.
Then footsteps sounded to his right, and he slowly turned.
He could not quite make out the person's shape at first, but as she stepped into the light of the torches, his eyes widened slightly. The Listener approached him, and he opened his mouth to speak – only to freeze when she leaned close to him. His heart pounded, hard, in his chest. He sucked in a weak breath, stifling a squeak, as she filled his vision, her auburn hair falling in crested waves onto his neck. She was warm, like she'd been when he was lying outside the ruins, barely conscious. He caught a whiff of fresh lavender. Her breath was hot on his face; he squeezed his eyes shut nervously.
"Your fever broke."
She drew away, and his hand instinctively reached out, grabbing her robe. She paused, her tired eyes searching his, and he hurriedly let go. His face grew hot. She looked away and walked to a nearby table. Lucius slowly released the breath he'd been holding. Several heartbeats passed before he found his voice again.
"Where… where am I?"
"Fort Farragut," the Listener answered without looking. He heard the sound of water sloshing about, and turned towards her. She was shaking the alembic, checking the clear mixture within. He thought of Varen, and shivered.
"How –"
"Four days." She poured the clear fluid into an empty vial and gave it one long, hard look. "Whatever struck you on the back was poisonous. Your body also had difficulty acclimatizing to your magic-inflicted injuries… they are different from a sword wound, after all." The Breton turned, and walked over to him. "You are strong." She set the vial on a chair beside him. "Can you sit up?"
Part of Lucius wanted to say no, so that he could feel her warm body against his when she helped him to sit, and run his fingers through her soft hair, and – by Sithis, what was wrong with him?
She might have been accommodating of him so far, but she was still the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. The blood on her hands was of many, both innocent people and Dark Brotherhood's own family. Lucius was not about to risk his life, head, and soul on the off chance that she might actually entertain his… well, whatever he was thinking.
So he gingerly flexed his wrists, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. It wasn't too hard. His body put up a much weaker protest this time around. Dull aches were nothing he couldn't handle. She watched him patiently, and Lucius couldn't help but wonder if she had any idea of the thoughts that had just crossed his mind. The way her soulful eyes studied him as he moved, it certainly felt like she did. He flushed yet again.
She handed him the vial, unfazed by his pink cheeks. It stank. Lucius studied it warily, unable to meet her piercing gaze. "Drink." The word rolled off her tongue like a summons, and he found himself gulping the vile liquid down only because she ordered it.
The Listener took the empty vial from him, turning away to the table. He heard the splashing of water as she dipped it into a basin and scrubbed. Lucius felt the sudden, irrational urge to keep talking, to keep drawing her attention. A side effect of the poison, no doubt. He refused to consider the alternatives. "H – How did you know where to find me?"
She shrugged. "I have a penchant for appearing at crucial moments."
"How cryptic." The words dropped off his tongue before he could stop himself. She paused, but only briefly, and did not answer him. Lucius cast his eyes about the dimly lit room, looking for something more appropriate to say than an apology. "Listener?"
Her head turned slightly towards him; it was the only acknowledgement he received. "Thank you. For saving me."
She merely said, "Don't eat the apples in the barrel. They're poisoned," and nodded at an innocent barrel, standing just behind a ladder that no doubt led to the outside. Lucius stared at the container for a moment. His abdomen suddenly groaned, and he cupped a hand over it again, wincing slightly. The pain brought with it an image of Ahdareeq in his mind. The ache intensified, and he took slow, shallow breaths.
So focused on the pain was he that he almost missed the Listener's feather-light touch on his hand until she'd pried it away. She pushed him down, gentle yet firm, and removed the bandages. Lucius was pretty sure his rapid heartbeat and burning face was not because of the ache in his abdomen. Nonetheless, the pain felt like someone had stabbed him with a fork, twisted his entrails and was dragging them out.
Then he saw the soft, refreshing blue glow of magic, dancing on her fingertips as she traced the stab wound languidly. Her fingers just barely brushed his skin and his breath hitched; the throbbing pain dulled as she consolidated her magic. The blue light seeped into the wound, caressing the hurt away. But the Khajiit remained in Lucius' mind, and he cringed at the hatred burning in Ahdareeq's eyes.
And then it was over, and she'd replaced his bandages. Lucius simply stared as she returned to the table and her alchemy. He had to ask; he wanted to know if the ghost had been real. "Listener?"
"I can hear your every movement," she answered dryly. He couldn't help noticing the note of exhaustion that had crept into her voice. "You don't have to keep calling me."
He flushed again – she was starting to make him feel like a small child. "Ahdareeq –"
"– Is dead," she replied, her tone surprisingly neutral, "Tenet Five: Never kill a dark brother or sister."
"Then – that ghost was…" His heart sank.
"The Wrath of Sithis, yes."
Silence descended. It was thick, almost unbearable, and Lucius swallowed, as if the small action would alleviate the pressure. He hadn't thought the Wrath of Sithis to be a real being, nor had he expected to be betrayed so by Ahdareeq. He'd held the small hope that it had just been a dream, a result of delirium, perhaps. The Khajiit had tried to kill him… because of what? Hatred? Because he lost his heart to the currents of Time?
What are we indeed, without our hearts?
He sat up again with some difficulty, determined not to continue along that train of thought. Lucius noticed, for the first time, that his bag was lying next to him, on a smaller table just beside the bed. He dug around in it for a moment, relieved to find that the Listener had salvaged his armor, and his fingers brushed across a book… a book?
A journal.
Lucius' mind cleared. "Liste – can I ask you something?"
She was silent. Lucius glanced at her, and then ploughed on nervously. "I found a journal, in Applewatch" – her hands suddenly froze – "it was written by one of our brothe –"
In a single, fluid movement, she turned, and he heard the cold sound of a dagger being unsheathed. The word caught in his throat as the blade flew towards him; Lucius tried to move, but his body was too sluggish. Nonetheless his attempt saved him, for the blade nicked only his cheek, bouncing off the wall behind him. He raised his eyes to the table, but she had disappeared – even living among Tamriel's finest assassins, Lucius had never seen anyone move quite so fast. One moment her back was to him, and the next, she had bodily dragged him off the bed and slammed him against the wall, her slender fingers wrapped tightly around his neck. His body screamed in protest, and he managed a strangled gasp.
"How did you find it?" the Listener snarled. Lucius' hands gripped her wrists, but he couldn't pry open her deathly grip. Her eyes burned with icy anger. Panic held him in its hot embrace once again, and he found himself unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
"Speak." The command fell like a lash. Her grip loosened ever so slightly.
And Lucius spluttered, "I… a contract… took me to… Applewatch. The… mark… he accidentally opened this… door, and I just… I saw it."
She seemed to falter a little at that, and finally released him. Lucius' legs buckled underneath him; her lean arm swiftly wrapped around his waist. She led him to the bed, which he sank gratefully back into, before speaking. "I'm sorry."
Lucius waited. He was certainly learning her game. She glared at him, but it was not with the fury that she'd had just a few moments ago. Then she picked up the Blade of Woe and sheathed it. "Applewatch… is dear to me. That journal is important. It should not have been found."
Some small part of him knew he was pushing it, but Lucius couldn't help himself. "Why?"
Her jaw seemed to lock for a moment, and the fingers of her free hand curled into a fist. Her other hand gripped the Blade of Woe so tightly her knuckles were white. That hand involuntarily twitched towards him. He swallowed, half-wondering if she would stab him. But she drew a deep breath, and said, "The journal you found is Mathieu Bellamont's journal. L… a Speaker… was framed and killed. Brutally. In Applewatch. Because of… him."
"How –"
The Listener's gaze darkened, and he instantly knew the conversation was over. She walked to the table once more, returning to his bedside. In her hands she held a familiar dagger, and a bag of gold. "Your payment," she said, "And this... blade."
Realization dawned as Lucius accepted it. Its hilt was covered with intricate silver carvings, and the guard curved elegantly downwards, joining with the handle. "Ahdareeq's… dagger."
"Consider it a bonus. You may keep it, or give it to someone. Your choice."
"Listener… will you tell me about… about what happened? To Mathieu, to that Speaker?"
Something flickered in her eyes. Lucius blinked. Was it… sorrow? The same, deep sadness he'd seen when their eyes had locked, outside Skingrad, before his first major contract. She was the first to break their eye contact. "I have left Shadowmere outside the fort. He will take you back to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary when you are ready."
Lucius opened his mouth again, but she was gone, leaving only the faint trace of lavender behind.
